


Talking Strategy

by lynne_monstr



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fighting As Foreplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Violent Sex, some knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia and England talk strategy during the Seven Years' War. That is, if talking strategy involves knives, fists, violence, and insults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Strategy

**Author's Note:**

> The story references some [Prussia/Austria dubcon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/859261) but can also be read standalone.

England spread his legs wide where he sat on a very ornate and lavish couch, cocking one of his ridiculous furry eyebrows at Prussia when he sprawled into a heap beside him. Prussia smiled wide, well aware that he was irritating England by sitting far too close.  
  
It had been a good day. A victory on the battlefield,  the satisfaction of humiliating Austria while England watched, and now – Prussia glanced sideways towards his ally and companion – maybe time for a little fun. The heavy ache between his legs pulled his thoughts, and he could think of more than one solution to the problem.  
  
“Nice show.” England’s lips curled in a sneer. “But I think you’re neglecting something,” he added, shifting to emphasize the admittedly impressive bulge straining against his uniform trousers.  
  
Prussia bristled. There was only one person who got to order him around, and his king was nowhere in sight. “Go fuck yourself,” he replied, a grin growing on his face as he realized the unintentional joke.  
  
England gave him a look like something had crawled up that entitled, imperial ass. It was an improvement over the prissiness, if nothing else. “It’s a mystery,” he said, pausing to stroke himself languidly, “why I lower myself to tolerate your company.”  
  
“If that’s fancy speak  for saying that you prefer to be on your knees when I’m around…” Prussia made a grandiose gesture towards the marble floors, “be my guest.”  
  
As soon as the words were spoken, Prussia braced for an attack.  
   
Surprisingly, it didn’t come. England just chuckled. “You’re such a brute.”  
  
“So are you. I just don’t bother hiding it behind that _gentleman_ bullshit.” Prussia flashed a grin and spread his arms wide. “I am what I am,” he finished.  
  
And found a knife to his throat. And a knee shoved painfully between his legs as England moved almost too fast to see.  
  
Prussia couldn’t have planned for a better reaction if he tried.  
  
“What you are is a drain on my resources. This alliance is costing me money. Money I don’t want to be spending.” England paused to draw his fist back and Prussia did nothing to stop the blows as they smashed down across his cheek in time with England’s words. “On. You.”  
  
A copper tang filled his mouth and Prussia grinned around it. England was stronger than he looked. Probably all those annoying colonies. But Prussia was riding high on the heels of his own successes, new land and new people buzzing at the base of his skull and pounding in time with his heart.  
  
“Finally,” Prussia said, drawing the word out as he thrust his hips hard into the unyielding press of bone and fabric that wasn’t enough to be more than a frustrating tease. Pleasure and pain coiled and twined low in his stomach, churning together until he couldn’t tell one from the other. “Took you long enough to get to the good part. Thought I was gonna have to take care of this myself.”  
  
“Mind your tongue, or I’ll cut it out.”  
  
The knife scraped along his throat in warning. It was a gaudy thing, all flashy gold and inlaid with obscenely large jewels of every color. Figures that someone as stuck up as England would have a blade that was more like jewelry than a real weapon.  
  
Prussia licked his lips in a deliberate insult. “I’d like to see you try.”  Then he tilted his head back until it rested on back panel of the luxurious couch, baring more of his throat to England’s blade. It was a calculated risk, a sham of vulnerability, and for a wild moment his blood sang at the thought that England might take him up on it. What a fight that would be!  
  
Rather than the hiss of skin parting and the heat of his own blood, there was a warm breath whispered in his ear. “I always knew you were depraved.”  
  
The words went straight to his cock and Prussia swallowed, the movement increasing the press of the blade against his flesh.  A line of stinging pain flared across his skin, and a race of heat churned in his gut. “Takes one to know one,” he replied, voice low and rough.  
  
England’s face was a hairsbreadth from his own, close enough to see the beads of sweat forming on his otherwise unblemished skin. “If you don’t shut that foul mouth I’ll be forced to shut it for you.”  
  
Prussia grinned around a mouthful of blood and grabbed England by the wrist that held the knife. He kept the blade perfectly poised against his own throat. “You’re forgetting something.”  
  
England’s eyes narrowed in a mix of confusion and suspicion before sparing a disdainful sneer at where Prussia’s dirt and blood encrusted hand rested on the previously pristine cuff of his officer’s jacket. “Really? Please do tell.”  
  
Blood trickled down the line of Prussia’s throat where the knife cut into him. It made a nice match to trail dripping down his chin from the earlier blows, and Prussia imagined that it made him look as fearsome as his kingdom. “What you’re forgetting is that I’m the best fucking military in Europe,” he answered.  
  
Not waiting for a response, he dug his thumb into the vulnerable hollow of England’s wrist.  
  
A high pitched shout rang out as England’s fingers spasmed . Knocking the knife to the floor, Prussia followed with a brutal punch. Then another, and another. Pressing the advantage, he shoved England off the couch and followed him down. They grappled, both punching and kicking in an attempt to subdue the other.  
  
It ended with Prussia sitting victoriously astride England on the floor, both knobby wrists pinned in a crushing grip above England’s head. It was strange to see him like that, laid out like a war prize on the cold marble of their enemy’s stronghold, his military finery now rumpled and bloody.  
   
Instead of retaliating, a sneer cut across England’s face, as vicious and ugly as the slash of a knife. “I suppose you do have your uses.” He punctuated it with a roll of his hips, and Prussia barely muffled the startled hitch of his own breath before it could escape and give him away.  
  
He must not have been fast enough because England’s sneer turned self-satisfied and his eyes danced with dark amusement. He laughed, all arrogance and sharp edges. “You young powers. All bluster and no control. It’s a shame to see you’re no different, Prussia. Though I can’t say I’m surprised.”  
  
With that, England rolled, forcefully dislodging Prussia and tossing him across the floor. It was difficult to stop the momentum on the smooth ground and he crashed head first into the opposite wall. For a split second his vision went black. A sharp pain in his scalp brought him back and he blinked, disoriented until the gilded pattern of the wall décor floated into view before him.  
  
His head was wrenched back and a hand pawed at the laces of his uniform trousers, slipping inside and roughly grabbing his cock. Prussia gasped and bucked his hips. A throaty laugh sounded in his ear from behind, and that’s when he realized England had one hand in his hair and the other between his legs.  
  
“Coordination. I can appreciate that.” Prussia said between heavy breaths.  
  
“Don’t you ever stop talking?”  
  
“Where’s the fun in that?”  
  
Pressing himself backwards to rub against the growing bulge there , Prussia was satisfied to hear a tiny hitch of breath. That cold fucker couldn’t stay impassive forever.  
  
As if it retaliation, the hand on his cock tightened, and the strokes became harder and rougher until it almost hurt. England jerked him backwards by the hair, and though the move set Prussia off balance, he couldn’t bring himself to pay it much attention. As long as England didn’t fucking stop.  
  
“There, that’s better.”  
  
There were a string of curses Prussia had in response to that, but before he could let them fly, England changed tactics again, speeding up his strokes almost enough to push Prussia over the edge.  
  
“Fuck.” Prussia gasped, hips thrusting in time with the new pace. England was an utter bastard, and Prussia was going to enjoy getting his own back. “Any fucking day, now.”  
  
That earned him another tug at his hair and a hand squeezing hard around his cock.  
  
Prussia grunted, refusing to give England the satisfaction of anything else. He could finish himself off if it came to it, but he was too damn close to want to renew their earlier fight. Also, England had sinfully good hands that were worth the price of listening to his stupid mouth. Marshaling the dregs of his self-control, he kept quiet and waited.  
  
England didn’t disappoint. He trailed a lazy hand from Prussia’s neck down to his chest. “Lucky for you, I have more important things to do today.”  
  
Prussia’s fingers twitched and he balled them into fists, clenching his jaw to keep from turning around and throwing a punch.  
  
True to his word, England finally got on with it.  
  
Relief and anticipation flooded through Prussia at the renewed pace. The pounding of his heart thudded like war drums in his ears, urging him on in time with England’s rhythm. The drums turned to canons, as loud and brutal as any of the weapons of his own artillery. His head swam with each beat, focus narrowing to a pinpoint until he was gasping with it, body shuddering as England brought him to release.  
  
The sound of England’s low, smug laughter shattered the haze of pleasure and he blinked. Turning his head, he saw England had stood up and was now towering above him where he lay sprawled out on his back.  
  
“I think that’s a much more fitting place for you.” Straightening the edges of his uniform until they were once again crisp, clean lines, England turned to walk away.  
  
The clap of a boot against marble goaded Prussia into action. No way was he letting England leave on that note. He shot his leg out, sending the smug bastard tumbling to the ground with a surprised shout.  
  
Forcibly shaking off the last of the pleasurable haze, Prussia descended, flipping him onto his back and freeing England’s cock from the constraining uniform trousers. Fisting it in quick, brutal motions. It was obvious that England was still hard from earlier, and Prussia spared a smug moment for some internal gloating. England might have been playing at superiority but that’s all it was. He was as affected by this whole thing as Prussia was and no amount of sneering could refute that.  
  
England grunted as Prussia added a twist to his wrist. “It’s about time you earned your keep. You—”  
  
A second hand between England’s legs shut him up. Prussia made a note to remember that particular technique for the future. It wouldn’t do to let an efficient maneuver like that go to waste. Much to his satisfaction, it didn’t take much more to push England over the edge completely, and he came with a short, choked off cry under Prussia’s hands.  
  
Wiping his dirty fingers on England’s jacket, Prussia paused to admire his handiwork. The smug look was still there, but with his cheeks flushed and his uniform in disarray, it wasn’t nearly as effective as usual.  
  
England cleared his throat and glared. “Get off me before I remove you.”  
  
With a sharp laugh, Prussia rolled to his feet. “Glad we could have this productive strategy meeting.”  
  
Walking over towards the abandoned couch, his eyes caught the glint of England’s sissy knife where it was still on the floor nearby. He picked it up, and was both surprised and impressed at the weapon’s perfect balance. He admired the blade with new appreciation before tucking it away in a hidden sheath.  
  
At least he wouldn’t go home from this meeting empty handed.


End file.
